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“Easy’s trainin’ with the vet on the Easy Bake Ovens,” Deacon reminded him.
“Fuck,” Judge growled.
“Yeah. Someone needs to know what the fuck they’re doin’ when we start...” Deke covered Justice’s ears and whispered, “When we start incineratin’ you-know-whats.” He released the dog’s ears.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. Right now, Shady and Easy are learnin’ how to run the furnaces while the state paperwork’s bein’ processed.”
“How fuckin’ hard can it be?”
Deke shrugged. “Regulations and shit, I guess. But it’s more than that. Maintenance, required paperwork and other shit, too.”
Judge’s hand began to rub Jury’s ears even faster at the thought of having her turned to ashes when she...
Fuck, he wasn’t going to think about it. Not now.
“Got a name and shit?” Deke asked, switching back to the original topic, since he, like Judge, didn’t like talking about their dogs ever needing to be cremated.
“He’s emailin’ me all that. Names, pics, along with the address to the house wifey might be holed up in.”
“How soon?”
Judge frowned. “Shoulda had it by now.”
“Did you check your fuckin’ email?”
Judge cocked an eyebrow at Deke. “That what I gotta do, asshole?”
Deacon smirked. “Yeah, you gotta open your email to be able to read ‘em.”
“Thank fuck you’re so fuckin’ smart.”
“Check. I’m curious what they look like. I can keep an eye open when I’m out and about. And send the pics to everyone else. Just in case. More eyes, the easier it’ll be to spot ‘em.”
“Was plannin’ to do that already. Don’t act like you’re the only one with a fuckin’ brain in this place,” Judge grumbled as he leaned forward and shook the mouse to his PC and woke up the screen.
The photo on his desktop screen always made him pause. It was the day he and Deke went to pick out Justice and Jury from the litter. They’d been eight weeks old at the time and cute as fuck.
Deke had gone to look at the pups after his old Doberman died. For the fuck of it, Judge went along, not planning on coming home with a little girl of his own. It was the best thing he’d done in a long time. He couldn’t imagine life without her now.
He double clicked his email icon and a full inbox popped up.
What the fuck? He had like thirty new emails. He hated computers. Deacon was better with them but using one was necessary for the business they were in. So, he suffered through it.
However, he must have forgotten to check the business email in...
A week.
Shit.
“It there?” Deacon asked.
Judge quickly scrolled through the junk mail and some random inquiries, until he found the one from the bail bondsman in New York. “Yep.”
He double clicked the email and it opened, filling his screen. It had a bunch of attachments, which included copies of the bond and all the paperwork. Then in the body of the email it listed some names.
Fugitive: Dennis LANGE – LKL Rochester, NY.
Wife: Cassidy LANGE – LKL Manning Grove, PA.
It also included an address for Heather and Tyler Douglas.
“So, last known location for the wife is right here in town on Fourth Avenue at the Douglases. Know ‘em?”
“Nope.” Deacon scratched at his beard. “They on the good side of the tracks?”
“Yeah.” Manning Grove had a small seedy area on the other side of the tracks. It included a sketchy rooming house. It also was the area Judge had grown up in. At least until he was sixteen. And it was where the Fury-owned Grove Inn was located. The town council had been trying to “clean up” that area for a long time, but it had been a slow-fucking-go. They acted like it was some kind of ghetto when it was only lower income families and more affordable rentals.
“Pics?”
“Yeah,” Judge murmured and clicked on the first one. Dennis Lange’s photo popped up large and in living color. He didn’t look like a hard-core criminal. In fact, he was wearing a suit in the mugshot. He clicked another photo and a smaller driver’s license photo popped up. The man had to be in his mid-thirties. His hair was neat, he wore glasses, no tats. Just a typical nine-to-five sucker.
No prior record, either, from the info Judge skimmed over.
“Fuck yeah, bet this asshole drives that fuckin’ Volvo, stops at Starbucks every morning, then makes an excuse to work late every night and is dickin’ his secretary.”
“You can tell all that from his photo?” Deke ribbed.
“Fuck yeah.” Judge tapped his temple. “Can see right through these assholes. Don’t ever think they’ll get caught ‘til they do. Then they get a high-dollar lawyer and get a fuckin’ slap on the wrist.”
“Well, he skipped, so thinkin’ it wasn’t gonna be a slap on the wrist. More like a slap on the ass when he’s bendin’ over and takin’ it up the poop shoot in the joint.”
“Yeah, he probably don’t like dick up the ass. From the pic, it looks like there’s a stick up there already takin’ up all that tight real estate. Damn. Virgin ass. No wonder he skipped. Wasn’t ready to get his ass cherry popped.”
